


Jungle Fever

by everywordnotsaid



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Brock Reynolds, Hurt Clay Spenser, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:00:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywordnotsaid/pseuds/everywordnotsaid
Summary: Sonny always knew he was right to hate jungles with a burning passion.“I hate the damn jungle, it’s always trying to poison you, eat you, and then kill you.” - Sonny Quinn 1x07
Relationships: Sonny Quinn & Clay Spenser
Comments: 82
Kudos: 194





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Always meant write for this show and it only took a literal pandemic to get me to follow through...Hope everyone enjoys!

Sonny hates the jungle. Hates the wet sticky heat of it, hates the frankly unnatural amount of insects that seem to call it home, hates the way the thick green foliage seems to swallow sound like his ears have been filled with cotton. He rucks his gear high onto his back, undershirt sticking uncomfortably to his back. Ahead of him Clay nearly trips over a root before catching himself and Sonny resists the urge to snicker. 

All in all though he can’t complain too much. The op, a simple recon and surveillance mission had gone without a hitch. The only casualty had been Clay’s ankle when he had slipped in a patch of mud on his way down a hill yesterday, and even that Trent had diagnosed as a slight sprain that would be fine with a little ice. Now all that’s left is the two-day trek back to the LZ, and the team is home free. Personally all Sonny can think about doing is settling down on his couch with an ice-cold beer. Although, Sonny’s always been of the mind that a drink is better with company then alone. Speeding up a little he falls into step beside Clay.

“Hey, Spense, what do you say you and me head out for a nice cool drink when we get out of this hell-hole?”

He asks, nudging Clay with an elbow. Clay snorts, shaking his head and reaching to wipe away the beads of sweat forming along his hairline. 

“Hell no Brian, once we’re home I’m cranking the AC full blast and going straight to bed.” 

Sonny frowns, glancing over at Clay, but he doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said. 

“My name’s Sonny, or did ya forget your very best buddy already?”

Clay gives him a funny look, pace slowing.

“The hell are you talking about man.”

Sonny’s frown deepens a little, unsure if Clay’s just being an asshole or not. Brian doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d joke about though; he still remembers Clay’s face in the mess hall the day after the kid died. 

“You just called me Brian…”

He says slowly, starting to wonder if the heat’s getting to Clay. Clay laughs a little uncomfortably. 

“Don’t be a dick Sonny. Come on, we’re getting left behind here.”

With that he breaks into a light jog, moving to catch up with the rest of the team ahead of them. Sonny pushes down the feeling of unease that settles in his stomach. They’re all tired and slips happen, it’s probably nothing. Shaking his head he follows behind, calling something rude out at Clay’s retreating back. 

A little while later they stop for a quick break to inhale some MRE’s. It’s the middle of the day now and the heat’s gotten even more oppressive if that’s even possible. It’s making Sonny cranky, and the shitty food isn’t helping his mood. Beside him Trent and Ray are arguing about the results of some stupid pre-season football game and it’s pissing him off. Jason’s on the radio with HAVOC and Brock’s sprawled out on the ground against Cerb napping. That man can nap like no one Sonny’s ever seen before, which means there’s no one left for Sonny to mess with. 

Noting the missing member he glances around till he finds Clay across the clearing they’ve paused in. He’s not eating like the rest of them, instead he’s sitting against the base of a large tree with his head tilted back against the trunk and his eyes closed. Sonny walks over to him, pulling a protein bar from his pack and chucking it lightly at Clay, 

“Eat up Goldilocks!”

Clay’s eyes fly open but he doesn’t get his hands up in time and the bar bounces off his shoulder before falling into his lap. He frowns up at Sonny, 

“What was that for?”

Sonny smirks at him, sinking down onto the damp ground beside him, waves idly at a fly that buzzes around his ears. 

“Ain’t my fault you’re gettin’ slow.” 

“Whatever.”

Clay grumbles, rolling his eyes. He picks up the bar, starting to play with the foil packaging, but doesn’t move to open it. Sonny takes another bite of his own chili and cornbread monstrosity. 

“You should eat that,” He says through a mouth full of cold beans, “We’re not gonna get another break till it’s dark.” 

Clay gives him a mildly disgusted look, finally tearing open the package. 

“Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to eat with your mouth open?” 

He asks, taking a small nibble of his bar. Sonny just gives him a wide tooth grin, chewing as loudly as he can. Clay shoves him, laughing. 

“Classy, real classy. You’re disgusting, you know that? I ever did that Stella would kick my ass.” 

That finally gets Sonny to pause, and he swallows his mouthful of food, giving Clay a careful look. 

“Well then it’s good that you and Stella broke up a coupla months ago, huh.” 

For a second Clay just stares at him with a blank look, and then shakes his head a little like he’s trying to clear it. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

He says, but he doesn’t sound sure. He reaches up to wipe at his forehead again. Sonny feels that unease in his stomach resurface and start to grow. 

“Hey, you sure you feelin’ okay man? You seem kinda out of it.”

Clay goes to nod, then stops wincing a little. Sonny raises an eyebrow and Clay sighs, shoulders slumping.

“It’s nothing, really, just have a bit of a headache.”

“You want me to grab Trent? He’s got advil.”

Sonny asks, already moving to stand, but Clay grabs at his sleeve tugging him back towards him.

“Nah, I’m good. Probably just dehydrated.” 

Sonny lets himself be pulled down. Clay’s a big boy, and if he says he’s fine then he knows best. _But Clay’s also a little shit who wouldn’t say something if he had a sucking chest wound_ a tiny part of Sonny’s mind whispers. He ignores it, because he’s not Clay’s mom and he can’t force him to seek medical attention if he doesn’t want it. It’s just a headache, he reasons, nothing serious. 

“Alright, but if you end up faintin’ like some victorian lady or somethin’ I won’t be the one haulin’ your ass outta here lemme tell ya.” 

He grumbles, shoving the last bite of his MRE in his mouth. As if on cue Jason claps his hands together loudly, calling out. 

“Alright guys, break time’s over. Let’s get a move on. Sooner we get to exfil sooner we get home and out of this mudpit.” 

Shoving the empty wrapper back into his ruck Sonny scrambles to his feet, reaching down to offer Clay a hand up. He notices that Clay hasn’t eaten any more of his bar, but doesn’t comment. 

“Alright, remember what I said, no fainting. I know it’s difficult to maintain your delicate constitution in this heat.”

He says jokingly as they gather their gear up, smirking as Clay’s face darkens. Clay doesn’t deign to respond to the jab, just offering Sonny his middle finger. That’s more Clay-like behavior, and Sonny settles back on his heels, satisfied. 

The next few klicks go by without incident, and Sonny’s starting to think he just imagined the whole thing. Maybe the heat’s getting to _him_. Clay doesn’t call him by the wrong name again, and drinks plenty of water under Sonny’s watchful eye. About an hour and a half after their break they hit a hillier region, and any conversation is lost as they start to work for real, bushwhacking their way through the thick ground foliage. 

They’ve just crested a sharp rise when Clay stops dead in his tracks, so abrupt Sonny doesn’t have time to pull up and he stumbles into Clay’s back. 

“What the hell, Clay.”

Clay doesn’t turn to look at him, instead standing very still where he froze. The first icy fingers of dread start to work their way up Sonny’s throat. 

“I-I don’t feel so good.” 

Clay says. One arm reaches out beside him to catch against a tree trunk, and he leans heavily into it, sagging slightly. Sonny quickly moves in front of him, trying to get a good look at Clay’s face. 

“Hey hey hey, what’s going on, talk to me.” 

He says, putting a hand Clay’s shoulder to prop him up. As soon as he touches him he can feel the heat radiating of the younger man, even through the fabric of his shirt. He curses shortly.

“Trent, hey, we need you back here!”

He can hear the rest of the team come to an abrupt halt in front of them and the sound of quickly moving footsteps, but he doesn’t turn to look, focused on Clay’s face. His cheeks and forehead are flushed pink and covered in a sheen of sweat, which could be written off as the result of strenuous exercise in nearly 90-degree weather except for the glassy blankness of his eyes. After a second he feels Trent beside him and moves back a step to let the medic work. Trent glances over at him, face questioning, and Sonny shrugs tightly. 

“Just stopped out of no where. Said he didn’t feel so good. He’s real hot, Trent, and he’s been acting weird all day. Called me Brian earlier, and he forgot he and Stella broke up. Complained about a headache when we stopped.”

Trent frowns, reaching forward to press a hand to Clay’s forehead. His frown deepens, and he pulls back for a second. By now Jason and Brock and Ray have doubled back, forming a small semi-circle around Trent and Clay. 

“What’s wrong with him?” 

Jason asks, smacking at a bug that’s landed on the side of his face.

“He’s definitely running a fever-”

Before Trent can finish his sentence Clay cuts in,

“I think I need to sit down.”

He says, a little weakly, and then abruptly does just that, legs folding beneath him. Sonny surges forward, getting an arm under Clay’s before he can hit the dirt, and Trent grabs his other side. The stock of Clay’s HK416 catches Sonny’s elbow as it swings wildly, sending sparks of pain up his arm, but he doesn’t complain. Between the two of them they lower Clay gently to the ground, propping him up against the tree. Sonny straightens up, and catches Ray and Jason exchanging charged looks. To his left Brock is silent and tense, one hand running absentmindedly through Cerb’s fur. Trent stays crouched beside Clay, swinging his ruck off his shoulder and starting to root through it. 

“Clay, you’ve got a pretty high temp. Do you still have a headache?”

Clay licks his lips slowly, eyes squinting closed as he nods slowly. 

“Yeah. Getting bad now.”

Trent pulls a thermometer out of his medpac, sticking it in Clay’s mouth. 

“Alright, any nausea, chills?” 

Clay nods around the thermometer, and if Sonny wasn’t so worried at his friend’s sudden decline he’d laugh at the image of Clay sitting there like a school kid trying to get out of class. 

“You’ve been walking with him all day, he show any signs of this?”

Jason asks quietly as Trent takes Clay’s pulse. Sonny shakes his head, 

“I mean, he was acting a little out of it, but nothing this bad. He said he was fine, and I figured it was just the heat, y’know.” 

But even as he says it Sonny tastes something sour in the back of his throat. He should have said something when they had stopped earlier, should have made Clay see Trent. He thinks about the way he winced when he moved his head, the way he wouldn’t eat his food. He should’ve said something. Before Sonny can get too worked up there’s a small beep and Trent pulls the thermometer out of Clay’s mouth, examining the display. From the look on his face it’s not good news. 

“102.”

He says shortly. Brock lets out a sharp breath between his teeth, and Ray winces. Sonny feels his stomach sink. 102 is high. Too high. And for it to come on this fast…

“What are you thinking?”

Jason asks, and Sonny can hear the undercurrent of stress in his voice. 

Trent doesn’t answer right away though; instead he pulls off Clay’s gloves, inspecting each of his wrists, then starts to roll up the cuffs of his pants. Sonny moves to stand a little closer, peering over Trent’s shoulder as he unlaces one of Clay’s boots and pulls it off. Through it all Clay sits there unresisting, and silent, which unsettles Sonny more then anything else. As Trent yanks Clay’s sock down he exposes a thick band of speckled red skin circling his ankle. Trent looks up at him, and his face is strained. 

“I think he’s got tick fever.”


	2. Chapter Two

“Tick fever,”

Jason repeats slowly. Trent nods. 

“Yeah, he’s got all the symptoms. Headache, nausea, high fever. The rash at his ankles and wrists. I’ve never seen it come on this fast before but…”

He trails off, shrugging. Honestly Sonny can’t say he’s surprised, if there was anybody that would defy medical expectations in the worst way possible it would be Clay. 

“Can you treat it?”

Ray asks. Trent sits back on his heels, bracing his palms on his thighs. 

“Only real treatment is doxy, which I don’t have. I’ll start him on a fever-reducer, antibiotics, but that’ll slow it down at best. I need to get the tick out, and then we need to get him to a doctor. ”

“Yeah.” Jason says, letting out a long breath, “Yeah. Okay. Is he mobile?”

Clay chooses this moment to speak up, blinking slowly up at them. His eyes are still glassy but his expression is staunchly determined, and an ache that feels suspiciously like affection rises in Sonny’s chest.

“I can walk. I’m fine.” 

Trent gives him a look which seems to suggest otherwise. 

“Maybe right _now_ he’s mobile. But he’ll be slow. And this thing can progress fast.”

Jason nods shortly, running a hand down his scruff. 

“Alright,” he says after a moment, “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We can’t afford to slow down, so we’ll put him in a litter and carry him-”

Clay looks ready to protest but Jason just holds up a hand and levels a steady gaze at him. 

“Kid, this isn’t a discussion so just shut up and stay down. Trent, you get that tick out, do what you gotta do to get him ready to move. I’m going to update HAVOC on the situation.”

As soon as Jason finishes speaking everyone snaps into action. Jason moves off to the side, keying his comms, and Ray follows, hands tucked into the top of his TAC vest. Sonny concentrates on Clay, kneeling down beside Trent. 

“Hey, now what did I tell you about fainting Clay?”

He asks, trying to sound lighthearted. Clay focuses his gaze at him, a faint scowl on his face. 

“Didn’t faint. I sat down.”

He says, as pig-headed as ever. Sonny lets out a snort, figures that even with a 102-degree fever Clay would still be stubborn as hell. 

“Hey, Clay, we gotta get this tick out of you okay. We’re gonna have to get your clothes off, see if we can find it.”

Trent says calmly, leaning Clay forward so that they can slide his ruck off. Sonny jumps in without having to be asked, supporting Clay’s shoulders. Clay’s still with it enough to get his vest unbuckled on his own, but Sonny helps him get it over his head, carefully setting it and Clay’s gun aside. Trent starts to unzip the collar of Clay’s shirt, and Clay smirks a little, in that way that means he’s about to say something he thinks is really clever. 

“Shouldn’t you at least buy me dinner first?” 

Trent huffs out a short laugh as he sits back so Clay can pull his shirt off. 

“Funny, that’s what my ex-wife said too.” 

“Aw come on Spense, we all know you’re a cheap date.” 

Sonny adds, and Trent gives a quick laugh while Clay's face gets redder. Once Clay is stripped to his skin from the waist up Trent starts his once over, inspecting Clay’s neck first. The rash around Clay’s wrists is more obvious now, a bright red stippling against his tan skin. 

“Here, lift your arm up.” 

Trent says, tapping Clay’s left shoulder. Clay obeys, raising his arm in the air. Sonny pretends not to notice how it shakes a little. Silently he reaches out and puts a hand on Clay’s shoulder. His skin is hot and dry to the touch, like paper left in the sun too long. Clay looks over at him, and his eyes are grateful.

“Got it,” 

Trent calls from Clay’s other side. Sonny shifts, leap-frogging over Clay’s legs to join Trent. Lodged in the crease of Clay’s armpit is a small dark tick, maybe the size of corn kernel. Sonny wonders how the hell he’d even managed to get a tick on him in the first place, then remembers his spill down the hill yesterday. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so funny anymore. 

“Alright, keep your arm up Clay,” 

Trent says, reaching into his med kit to pull out a pair of tweezers and iodine swabs. It’s funny, Sonny thinks as he watches Trent reaches down and grabs the tick by it’s fat bloated body, how something so small can do so much damage. Bullets he gets, grenades and IED’s and knives he’s all seen before. But this, this tiny little creature brought Clay to his knees. Somehow it doesn’t seem fair. 

Trent gives the insect a steady yank, and it pulls free of Clay’s skin with a small trickle of blood. Instead of throwing it away though he drops it into a small plastic baggie and tucks it back into his kit. 

“Why’d you save the lil’ bastard?”

Sonny asks as Trent starts to wipe Clay’s inner arm down with an antiseptic wipe. Trent looks back at him, 

“Ticks carry Lyme disease. Doctor can check and see if this one has it.” 

“If I get Lyme Disease I think I deserve a Purple Heart.” 

Clay grumbles petulantly, letting Sonny help him put his shirt back on.

“Aw yeah, I bet that’ll play well. Big strong Navy Seal brought down by a puny little bug. Sure that’ll get all the ladies at the bar swoonin’ over ya when you show ‘em your battle scars.”

“Fuck you Sonny.”

Clay says, but there’s no heat to it. Sonny almost wishes there was. 

“Only if you buy me dinner first.”

He says with a wink as Trent pulls out an IV bag, shoving Clay’s sleeve up his arm to look for a vein.

“Hey, Brock, hold this up.” 

Brock nods, moving in with Cerb at his heels and grabbing the bag from Trent. The dog curls up beside Clay, resting his head on his knee and Clay smiles, reaching out to pet him as Trent slides the needle in smoothly.

“Trent, need you a minute.”

Jason calls from behind them, Trent nods over his shoulder, clapping Clay on the shoulder. 

“Alright buddy, be right back.” 

He says, before pushing himself up, walking back towards where Ray and Jason are standing a few feet away. Sonny follows a step behind, with a last glance back at where Clay is sitting, Cerb still resting on his leg and Brock crouched with the IV bag beside him. When he catches up Trent’s giving Jason an update. 

“-got him started on some intravenous antibiotics and before we start to move I’ll get some Phenergen and a fever reducer in him.” 

Jase nods, finger tapping the stock of his gun distractedly. 

“Good, good.”

Sonny watches his eyes flick to Clay, and then back to Trent. 

“So tick fever, how bad we talking.”

He asks, voice low enough that Clay can’t hear him from where he’s sitting. Trent sighs, pulling his boonie off for a second to run a hand through his hair. 

“There’s good news and bad news. Good news is, probably won’t get bad enough to kill him any time soon, usually takes eight days or so from when symptoms start showing to drop you.” 

Ray raises an eyebrow, uncrossing his arms. 

“Not really seeing a downside here, we got a two day hike outta here max. He’ll be stateside way before the danger window.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the bad news. First, I’ve never seen symptoms show up on anybody this quick before. And second, side effects can be nasty.”

“What kind of nasty we talkin’?”

Sonny asks, a little warily. Trent puts his hat back on, sighs. 

“If the fever gets really bad? Inflammation of the brain, the heart or lungs, kidney failure. I’ve… I’ve seen a guy lose an arm before.”

Jason swears under his breath, and Sonny’s gut clenches. Clay loses a limb, that means medical discharge, means he’ll never operate again. Trent hurries on, like he can feel the tension in the air ratchet up at his words. 

“That’s worse case scenario though, and Clay’s strong, we caught it early on. Look, bottom line is the best thing we can do right now is just get him home, get him on the right antibiotics.” 

Jason nods again. 

“Alright. Lets get him in the litter and get going then. Sonny, go help ‘em out.” 

“Yessir,”

Sonny says, not needing to be asked twice, and quickly turns to follow Trent. Brock is laughing at something Clay said, and he glances up at them as they approach. He’s smiling, but his eyes are concerned. When he speaks his voice is overly casual.

“Clay here was, uh, just telling me that he’s decided he really hates Columbia. Might give you a run for your money for the title of who hates jungles the most, Sonny.”

Sonny would sympathize; except for the fact that they’re not in Columbia. He exchanges a look with Trent, then crouches beside Clay. 

“Well, lucky we’re in Brazil then, partner.” 

Clay’s forehead crinkles in confusion, and he looks between Trent and Sonny, cheeks still flushed and eyes fever-bright. 

“Oh. Sorry. Must’ve…must’ve gotten confused.” 

That stupid ache echoes in Sonny’s chest again and he pushes it down. Sniffing, he shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it man, happens to the best of us. Geography was never my strong suit in high school y’know.” 

“Wasn’t aware you _had_ a strong suit in high school Sonny, less dropping out counts. How many schools you get expelled from again?”

Clay needles, seeming vaguely smug. Brock lets out a low whistle, offering a fist. Clay reaches up to bump it, smirking. Sonny schools his face to look appropriately offended. 

“Hey now, you sure that’s what you want to be saying to one of the guys who’s gonna be hauling your ass up and down hills in just a second here?”

At that Clay’s face clouds over again, smug expression melting away. 

“This is ridiculous, man, I told Jason I don’t need to be carr- Ow! Trent, what the hell?”

Trent looks up from where he’s pulling a needle out of Clay’s free arm. 

“Yeah, and Jace told you to stay down and shut up.” He says dryly, wiping away the bead of blood that formed at the injection site with a swab. “Trust me, when this really starts to hit you you’ll be glad you’re not standing up. Now, I just pushed the Paracetamol which should bring the fever down, and I’m gonna have you take some Phenergan too for the nausea.” 

Trent pops two pills out of a tab and hands them over to Clay. Clay takes them begrudgingly, swallowing them dry with a surly look on his face. 

“I’m not a damn pincushion y’know.”

“Yeah, we know kid.” Jason says, appearing behind Sonny’s shoulder, “Now listen to Trent and get in the litter so we can get a move on, we’re burning daylight here.”

Clay lets them help him onto the stretcher, bitching about it the whole time. The rest of the guys take it with good grace, knowing he’s not actually pissed at them, just the situation. Sonny can’t say he would be taking it much better if their positions were switched. It never feels good to be helpless. 

Trent gets the front of the litter and Sonny takes the back, with Brock and Cerb bringing up the rear guard. They divvy up the rest of Clay’s gear between them, Ray getting the lion’s share of it on his insistence. 

“Just gonna hang on to it for ya till you’re back on your feet brother,”

He says quietly to Clay, clasping his forearm in a strong grip as Trent and Sonny start to lift the stretcher.

“HAVOC, this is Bravo One, we’re oscar mike.”

Jason says, shifting his pack on his back to adjust for the added weight. Blackburn’s voice crackles in Sonny’s ear, sounding very distant. They’re lucky that the damn comms are even working right now, under all this foliage. 

“Roger that Bravo One. Keep us updated on Bravo Six’s condition.”

“Yeah, we’ll let you know if there’s any changes. One out.” 


	3. Chapter Three

For a while, things seem fine. Clay continues to complain about the indignity of it all, and Sonny learns to tune him out after the first 45 minutes or. They make good time through the jungle, the unexpected pause and the addition of a litter not putting them too far behind schedule, and now there’s a new sense of urgency keeping a fire at their heels. After an hour Brock taps his shoulder and slides into place so that his arms can get a break, and Ray subs in for Trent. 

He doesn’t realize anything’s off until after he’s switched back in, and even then it takes him a few minutes. It’s an absence of sound that tips him off, Clay’s not bitching anymore. He looks down, and Clay’s face is still, eyes closed. 

“Hey,” Sonny says, trying to jostle his side of the stretcher a little “Just cuz you’re gettin’ a free ride don’t mean you get to nap on the job.”

Clay’s eyes flicker open, and Sonny notices two things. The first is that Clay is shivering like it's ten below outside which is crazy because Sonny’s pretty positive he’s soaked every piece of clothing he’s wearing straight through with sweat. The second is that as soon as they make eye contact he knows that Clay’s not seeing him, that he’s looking straight through him. 

“Brian…”

Clay rasps, and Sonny’s not sure whether he should be offended that Clay keeps calling him by his dead best friend’s name. 

“Hey, Trent, I uh, I don’t think he’s doing so good.”

He calls, worry clawing at his throat. Ray’s still got the front of the stretcher, and when he looks back Sonny sees his own concerned mirrored on his face. They stop, setting Clay down between them and Trent approaches quickly, kneeling beside him. Brock and Jason gather nearby, staying out of the way, and he can hear Cerberus whine in the back of his throat, like he knows something is wrong. Brock gives him a comforting pat on the head, shushing him distractedly, but his gaze is locked on where Clay shivers on the ground. 

“What’s going on, what’s wrong.” 

Jason asks, glancing from Clay to Sonny to Clay again. 

“Called me Brian again…”

Sonny forces out, tearing his eyes away from his friend to look at Jason. 

“Probably the fever,” Trent says, pulling the thermometer out again. “It’s confusing him.” 

He reaches down, tapping Clay lightly on the side of his face till his eyes focus a little. 

“Hey, Clay, open up for me, gotta check that temp again.”

After a bleary second Clay obeys, and Trent slides the stick under his tongue. They all wait in tense silence. When Trent pulls it out he just sighs and shakes his head. 

“103.”

Everyone’s shoulders sink a little and Sonny has to turn away for a second, white-hot anger building in his chest. Just this morning he and Clay had been messing around, joking. Clay had been telling them some ridiculously nerdy facts about beetle species while he and Trent had tried to hide their laughter. Clay had been fine, and now he’s shivering in a stretcher with a 103 degree fever. More then anything his quick spiral is what’s scaring Sonny the most. He turns back, focusing his gaze on Trent.

“Didn’t you give him a fever reducer? Why isn’t it working?”

He barks, but Trent just returns his dangerous glare steadily. 

“Yeah, gave him a dose earlier. It’s not a magic cure though, and this fever’s stronger then I thought. I’ll give him another dose, check back in.” 

Sonny feels an angry retort rising in his throat and tamps it back down. It’s not Trent’s fault, it’s not anyone’s fault really. That’s maybe the worst part. It’s not like Clay got shot or blown up or stabbed, there’s no asshole they can go after to make them feel better. He just got bit by a damn bug. Could’ve happened to anybody, and it happened to him. Kid always did have shit luck. 

“HAVOC, this is Bravo One. Six’s fever has climbed.” 

Jason says, but there’s no response from HAVOC, just the crackle and hum of static. Not that it really matters, there’s not anything Davis or Blackburn or Ellis could do. They start moving again after Trent gives Clay another Paracetamol injection. He starts to perk up a little bit, the last few minutes, probably the fever-reducer kicking in. Pulls himself together enough to give Sonny that stupid-shit eating grin of his. 

“What was all that about how you’re not going to be the one hauling my ass out of this jungle?” 

He ekes out, voice shaking a bit with the force of the chills. All of a sudden things feel suddenly, uncomfortably, serious. 

If the mood had been grim before it’s downright bleak now. It’s still hot as hell, air so thick with humidity it’s hard to breathe it in, and stinging bugs relentlessly attack everyone’s exposed face and neck but no one complains. It fact, no one says anything at all, just keeps their heads down and their feet moving. The sun drifts lower and lower in the sky, shadows stretching further across the ground. When it hits real dark Jason pulls them to a halt. They end up stopping in a small clearing in the jungle, although it’s less a clearing really and more like a patch of land where the trees aren’t quite as dense if Sonny’s being honest. 

“We’re gonna post up here for the night,” Jason says, “Terrain’s too uneven to keep going even with NOD’s, especially now that we got a stretcher to carry.” 

Nobody argues. It’s not going to do Clay any good if they drop him because it’s too dark to see their own feet. Sonny kneels, carefully setting down his end of the stretcher while Ray at the front does the same. Clay’s dozing, and as much as Sonny wants to try and talk to him he knows Trent’s the one who needs access so instead he moves away, letting the medic do his work. As Trent coaxes Clay back into consciousness Sonny looks around for a good place to set up, settling on a fallen log a few feet away. Wandering over he sinks down next to it, leaning against it. The bark is rough and knobby and pokes at Sonny’s back, but it’s better then nothing. 

Pulling off his gloves he flexes his fingers, grimacing as they ache and burn. Clay’s no lightweight, and hauling his ass on a stretcher through a jungle is taking its toll. There’s a nasty blister forming between his left pointer finger and thumb, where the handle rubs particularly bad and Sonny squints contemplatively at it, considering whether or not to pop it. 

“You want an infection? Cause that’s how you get an infection.” 

Trent says, interrupting his musing. 

“Was only thinking about it.” Sonny explains, a little sheepishly, as Trent crouches in front of him. “Anyways, it’s just a blister. Can’t do that much damage.”

Trent snorts, handing Sonny a bandage and a bottle of Neosporin. 

“Yeah, and this is just a tropical vacation.” 

Properly chastised Sonny accepts the supplies, smearing some gel on the pus filled bubble.

“So, how’s our boy doing?” 

He asks, trying yo apply the bandage with now greasy fingers, after a few seconds Trent bats away his hands and does it himself. Trent sighs, pulling back and tucking the Neosporin away, shakes his shaggy head. 

“Fever’s holding steady, at least. Hasn’t gone down but didn’t go up either. Mostly he just feels like shit, still pretty nauseous even with the Phenergen and the headache’s getting to him. I got Brock trying to keep him distracted.” 

Sonny glances over to where Clay’s laying, Brock squatted next to him saying something. It must be funny because Clay laughs, a dry rasping sound. Cerb barks a little, a short high yip, like he’s trying to laugh along. Trent must see something in his face because he reaches out, squeezes Sonny’s shoulder. 

“Kid’s tough. He’ll fight it.”

He doesn’t tell Sonny Clay’s going to be fine, because they both know better then to make promises they can’t keep. But he’s right, Sonny thinks, Clay’s a tough kid and he’s a fighter. If Sonny knows anything about him it’s that. 

“Yeah, you’re right”

He replies, and hopes that Trent hears the thank you. Trent nods, and gives his shoulder a last squeeze before rising to his feet. 

“Hey, eat something. And don’t pop that damn blister.” 

He says sternly as he walks towards Ray and Jason. Sonny gives him a two-fingered salute, calling out a little mockingly. 

“Ay-ay cap’n.” 

Trent doesn’t respond, but he gives him a wave over his shoulder. Sonny smirks, but he obeys Trent’s order and roots out an MRE. He eats it cold, too exhausted to bother with heating it up, and he barely tastes each bite he swallows. If he’s honest with himself, he’s mostly just avoiding going over to Clay again. It unnerved him to have his friend look at him and not see him, to watch the normally cocky kid so unsure. It sits wrong, in a way that Sonny’s not certain he can explain exactly. Just knows he doesn’t like it. 

After a while Brock gets up from his position by Clay’s side and wanders over to where Sonny’s sitting, perching on the log next to him. Cerb follows, curling up at his feet, and Sonny reaches over to give him a scratch behind the ears. 

“He’s asking for you.”

Brock says after a moment, carefully inspecting something very interesting on the back of his glove. Sonny grunts, spooning another mouthful of whatever bland tasteless meal flavor he’d chosen into his mouth. Brock gives him a sideways glance when he doesn’t respond further, green eyes sharp, then looks back to his glove. 

“Bet he could use someone to take his mind off things. He feels pretty bad right now, you know.”

His voice is even, but there’s an accusatory edge to it. Sonny hears the unspoken _you’re being an asshole_ and chooses to pretend he doesn’t. He sniffs, pokes a little aggressively at the bottom of the MRE bag. 

“Thing is, I thought you were on ‘entertain the kid’ duty Brock.” 

Brock nods, shrugs.

“Yeah. There’s only so many stories I can tell about Cerb’s coolest takedowns before it starts to get a little old though.”

They both know that’s not true, but Sonny doesn’t call him out on it, just sighs and finally sets aside the remains of his dinner. Brock’s right, he’s being an asshole and it’s not fair to Clay. 

“Alright alright, I’m going, don’t get your undies in a twist.” 

He complains, pushing himself off the ground. Brock smiles quietly in triumph, sliding down off the log to settle beside Cerb. Wiping the dirt off his hands on his pants Sonny glances around the clearing at the rest of the team who are all suddenly all very interested in anything but looking at him.

“Anybody else want to shoot their shot, huh? Come over and try to get me to talk about my feelings?”

No one rises to the bait, but Sonny catches the flash of a smile on Ray’s face before he turns away. Shaking his head he walks over to where Clay is set up. 

“Hey brother,” he says as he sinks down beside him, “Heard Brock was talkin’ your ear off. Well, as much as he can talk anyone’s ear off.” 

Clay laughs a little, which quickly turns into a wince. He recovers after a second, smoothing the pain away and shaking his head.

“Nah, he’s fine. You on the other hand, you’re probably going to try to tell me a bunch of cowboy ass stories about Texas to pass the time aren’t you.” 

“Hey, watch your mouth about Texas there buddy, don’t think that just cause you’re a little sick I won’t hesitate to kick your ass.” 

Sonny admonishes, pointing a warning finger. Clay quirks an eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah? Well, thing is, Sonny, I could beat you with a hand tied behind my back. Maybe both. So if you want to get into I’m game.” 

The whole thing would probably be a lot more threatening if Clay wasn’t laid out flat on his back and looking like a plague victim and a half. Sonny smiles, or tries to, and reaches out to pat Clay on the shoulder. 

“Why don’t we raincheck that for when you’re feeling a little better, huh Rambo?”

“Alright,” Clay acquiesces grudgingly, “I’ll let it go this time, cause I can tell you’re scared and I don’t want to embarrass you, y’know.” 

He continues, a little breathless, and Sonny rolls his eyes. They fall into a gentle familiar rhythm after that, an easy back and forth they’ve had a hundred times before and it feels almost normal. Feels almost like things are going to be okay. How bad off can Clay be if he can still shit talk Sonny to Sunday and back? After a while Trent comes over again, puts a hand on Sonny’s shoulder. 

“Why don’t you get some rest.” 

He suggests, in a way that isn’t really a suggestion. Sonny pauses in the middle of a story about how he almost got himself trampled by a pissed off mama cow when he was fifteen. When he looks down he sees Clay’s eyes fluttering closed as he fights in vain keep them open. Clears his throat. 

“Hey, I’ll finish the story another time, alright?” 

There’s no response. 

Clay’s condition deteriorates over the night. When Sonny racks out Clay’s fever is still hovering around 103, and he’s obviously miserable and a little hazy, but holding his own. When Sonny wakes up Trent’s kneeling over him, face pinched, with Jason hovering beside him holding up another IV bag. 

“What’s goin’ on?” 

Sonny asks, pushing himself to his feet and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Trent looks up at him as he joins them, his expression is grim and Sonny feels his stomach turn uncomfortably. 

“Fevers up. 105.”

Trent says shortly. Sonny’s breath catches painfully in his chest and he swallows hard. So high already, and they’ve still got a day of trekking through harsh terrain till they can get him out of here. He looks down at Clay. He’s white as a sheet under the fever flush and his eyes are barely visible beneath drooping eyelids, just thin crescents of blue. They flicker back and forth as Clay shifts restlessly, mumbling incoherently to himself. Jason nudges Sonny and passes over the IV bag. 

“Here, stay with him. I’m gonna get everyone else up and ready to go.” 

Sonny takes it, nodding, then crouches down, putting a hand on Clay’s shoulder. 

“Hey there goldilocks, not feeling to hot are you huh?”

Clay’s eyes crack open marginally wider and he looks up at Sonny, his brow furrowing as he takes in the poorly concealed concern on his face. 

“Sonny,” Clays says, voice anxious and raspy with fever. “What’s the matter? Is somebody hurt?” 

Sonny feels his throat tighten, a stinging sensation rising at the backs of his eyes. He clears his throat, forces the words past the lump. 

“Nah, no one’s hurt buddy. You just get some rest, alright?”

“Not tired. Thirsty.”

Clay states. Trent gives him a tired warning look that tells Sonny they’ve been around this block before. 

“Yeah, well, last time I tried to give you water you threw it up so you’re on IV liquids for now.”

He explains good-naturedly. Clay frowns a little petulantly but his eyes are already slipping shut. Sonny manages a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Worse then a toddler ain’t he.” 

Trent lets out a huff of laughter in agreement, flipping the top of his med pac closed. 

“Never thought I’d have a more difficult patient then Jason Hayes but I think he might take that title.”

They break camp in a few minutes, everyone quietly tightly efficient. Ray picks up Clay’s extra gear again and they’re off by the time the sun’s faint morning light has started to break through the canopy. It’ll be fine, Sonny reminds himself. They’re a day out from exfil, then Clay’ll be safe in a hospital with all the antibiotics they can pump into him and Sonny can go back to making fun of him for making such a big fuss over a tiny little bug bite. It’ll be fine. Then Brock damn near breaks his ankle. 


	4. Chapter Four

They’re inching their way along a steep hill when Brock goes down suddenly with a shout of pain, left foot disappearing into the ground to halfway up his shin. Everyone pulls up to a halt immediately, Trent running over to drop down beside him while Cerberus noses anxiously at his handler. Clay must have come around enough to notice that something’s up because as Sonny and Ray lower the stretcher to the ground he looks at Sonny, eyebrows creasing. 

“What’s going on? Why did we stop?”

He asks, a little bleary, but clearer then he’s been all morning. Sonny tries to take it as a good sign, forces himself to smile. 

“Brock, uh, just pulled a Clay. Took a little spill.” 

Clay’s brow crease further, but he doesn’t comment.

“Hey, hey, you good?”

Trent is asking when Sonny looks up again, already helping Brock maneuver his foot out of whatever pit he’d stepped in. Brock nods a little breathlessly, wincing as Trent starts to unlace his boot and work it off. His face is pale and sweaty, mouth tight with pain. 

“Yeah, just my ankle.”

There’s a tense second as Trent palpates Brocks ankle, before he sits back, pushing his boonie up further on his forehead. 

“Okay, doesn’t look like it’s broken, but it’s sprained pretty bad. He’s not going to be able to put much weight on it.” 

Jason runs a hand down his face, cursing and turning away for a second. Sonny feels like doing the same. With Clay already down, the last thing they need is another injured teammate, especially since it’s going to slow down their timeline. _Time that Clay might not have_ Sonny tries and fails not to think. Brock seems to be thinking the same thing because his face goes a shade paler, and he looks up at Jason. 

“Hole was covered in brush, I couldn’t see it boss I’m sorry.”

Jason sighs, leaning down to put a hand on Brock’s shoulder for a second. 

“I know, I know. It’s not your fault.” 

Brock nods, but doesn’t seem convinced. Trent starts to wrap his ankle and he grimaces, biting at his lip and reaching out for Cerb. 

“Okay, solutions. Could we put him in a litter too? Walk both of them out?”

Jason asks, voice tight and urgent. Ray shakes his head, 

“Two on Clay and two on Brock? That leaves exactly zero guys with their hands free, Jase, and this corner of the jungle’s safe but not that safe.” 

“I can walk.”

Brock says from his seat on the ground, he’s still a little pallid but his face is determined. Jason looks to Trent, who’s just finished wrapping Brock’s ankle. He seems conflicted for a second before nodding. 

“Yeah, he should be able to walk. He’ll need help though.” 

“We can work with that. Trent, you stay with Brock. Rest of us’ll take shifts on the stretcher.” 

Jason says, before moving to his comms. 

“Alright, HAVOC, this is Bravo One. Uh, Bravo Five’s down, sprained his ankle. Looks like we’re gonna be pushing back exfil about half a day.” 

This time by some miracle the comms are working, and after a second Davis’s voice comes through the line, albeit distorted and choppy. 

“Good copy, Bravo One.” 

With Brock’s ankle stabilized as much as it can be they waste no time getting back on the move. Trent gets under one arm and Jason ducks under the other and between the two of them they get Brock on his feet again. Once he’s standing up Jason dips out from under his arm, letting Trent stabilize him fully. 

“Let’s move fast, but move careful, alright? We can’t afford another man down so watch where you put your feet and if you need to switch out then say something.” 

Jason says, looking at each one of them in turn, waiting till they nod in confirmation. His eyes linger on Sonny a beat longer then is comfortable before he turns away and starts back down the hill. Reaching down Sonny gives his fingers a last flex, before picking up the stretcher handles. Clay’s heavy, but he’ll carry him as long as he needs too. 

Things get worse, because of course they do. If Sonny believed in god he’d sure feel like he’s playing bad luck bingo with them. It happens after Sonny’s switched out with Jason so he’s only alerted to the fact that something’s wrong by Ray’s sudden curse. 

“Shit, Trent, I think he’s seizing.” 

Trent carefully but quickly deposits Brock against a tree, sprinting forward to where Jason and Ray are setting the stretcher down between the two of them. Dropping to his knees he gets Clay onto his side, clearing rocks and sticks away from his head as he braces him with one hand. Sonny can only watch, jaw tight, as Clay shakes on the muddy jungle floor, neck stiff and veins distended as he convulses, fingers grasping spasmodically at nothing.

“Talk to me, Trent,” 

Jason orders, voice taut. 

“Seems like a febrile seizure, temps going up too fast and his body can’t handle it. Or it could be inflammation of the brain, hard to tell without more equipment.” 

Trent says, starting a timer on his watch. Both of those things sound equally terrifying to Sonny’s untrained ears. Inflammation and brain are definitely two words that are not supposed to be in the same sentence. He’s no doctor but he knows the brain damage can mean a lot of things, a lot of things that ensure Clay will never operate again and that’s a possibility that Sonny can’t face, doesn’t want to even think about. So he doesn’t, focuses on the moment he’s in right now. The seizure feels like it’s been going on for hours, but when the convulsions eventually die down Trent announces it’s only been two minutes. 

“That bad?” 

Sonny asks, voice sound distant and hollow in his ears. Trent shrugs. 

“Pretty average. We go above three and that’s when we have to start worrying.” 

Sonny’s pretty sure he’s already worried. Actually, he’s pretty sure he’s more then worried at this point. Jason seems to be unsettled too, because he shakes his head. 

“We gotta get him out of here. TOC, Bravo One. Six’s condition is deteriorating rapidly, is there any way we can get a helo in to our location?”

There’s a long second before their radios crackle to life again. 

“Negative Bravo One foliage is too thick. Closest route out is the one we’ve already got you headed too.” 

Jason sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, okay. Copy that. We’ll continue towards the exfil point.”

There’s not much Trent can do at this point, but he gives Clay another dose of Paracetamol hoping to get ahead of the fever. Clay’s starting to come around now, and he blinks sluggishly, shifting a little. 

“Trent?”

He ekes out, voice nearly lost in the quiet dampness of the forest. Trent pauses his fiddling with the IV drip, getting down close to Clay. 

“I’m right here Spenser.”

“I don’t- something feels wrong. My head hurts.” 

Trent’s face falls a little, so imperceptible you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t know him, but Sonny does. 

“Yeah, I know buddy, I know. Just hang in there.” 

Sonny’s afraid. He can admit that too himself now. But he’s also angry, and he learned a long time ago that it was easier to be angry then to be afraid. Easier to say fuck you to the world before the world can say it to you first. So he takes the small kernel of anger in his stomach and nurtures it, fans the flames as they pick up the stretcher and start walking again, feels them grow with every groan and murmur from Clay. Let’s himself be angry at the jungle for having so many goddamn bugs in it and Clay for letting himself get bit by one and Brock for falling in that stupid hole. By the time night falls and they start to set up camp he’s got a good blaze going, hot and dangerous in his chest. 

When Trent examines Brock’s ankle again and announces that he’s pushed himself so hard he turned his sprain into a fracture Sonny should feel bad, but he’s too pissed. Instead, he turns to Ray and says, loud enough that Brock can hear, 

“Well maybe if he’d been watchin’ where he was goin’ it wouldn’t be a problem.” 

Ray looks at him, obviously a little shocked, with disapproval sweeping across his face close behind. 

“Sonny…” 

Jason says, warning clear in his tone, but Sonny’s on a roll now and he ignores it. 

“No, you know what? Clay just had a damn seizure, alright. He don’t got time for us to be slowin’ down.” 

Brock doesn’t try to defend himself, just keeps his head down, curly hair hanging across his eyes. 

“It could’ve been any of us Sonny. Hell, Clay took a spill the other day. It happened, now we gotta move forward. Focus on getting Spenser out of here safe.”

Ray reasons, voice that carefully calm tone he uses when he’s trying to defuse a situation. One that usually involves Sonny to be fair. Most of the time it works, but Sonny’s not having any of it right now.

“All I’m sayin’ is if we don’t get Clay those antibiotics or whatever soon enough and somethin’ happens to him, that’s gonna be on you Brock.”

He bites out, looking to hit where it hurts, looking to be cruel. He succeeds. Brock goes pale, face crumpling like Sonny sucker-punched him, and as soon as the words leave his lips he regrets them. 

“Alright that’s it, Sonny, back off.”

Jason barks, stepping in between them. When Sonny hesitates for a second he glares, pointing at the other side of the copse of trees they’ve stopped in. 

“Go cool off.”

With a last scowl Sonny spins on his heel, stalking away. He doesn’t wander too far, because that’d be just asking for trouble the way this op is going, but he puts enough distance in between him and the rest of the group that he can’t quite hear them talking anymore. With every step he takes he feels the anger drain out of him. He tries to cling to it, hold on to the sense of safety it gives, but it slips between his fingers like sand. By the time he finds a tree to lean against it’s gone, leaving behind a bad taste in the back of his mouth and a feeling of shame. 

After a few minutes he can hear footsteps approaching behind him, and he glances over his shoulder to see Ray, standing with his arms folded across his chest. 

“Want to tell me what the hell that was about?” 

Ray asks, a little sharply. Sonny turns his head back to the tree trunk, examining the curves and folds of the bark in the dim evening light. 

“Brock shoulda been watching where he put his damn feet.”

He mumbles, but he doesn’t really mean it. Feels more like he’s going through the motions. Ray sighs, sounding tired now instead of sharp. 

“Sonny, look at me, come on man.” 

Begrudgingly Sonny pushes away from the tree, turning to face Ray. 

“I was just… I’m worried about Clay.”

He says finally. Ray raises an eyebrow, giving him that perfectly honed disappointed parent look. 

“I know. And you think the rest of us aren’t? You think Brock isn’t? You don’t have a monopoly on caring about Clay and I bet you anything Brock feels like shit right now. You getting in his face and blaming him isn’t doing anyone any good. Not Brock, not you, definitely not Clay.” 

Sonny wants to protest, but he can’t, not really. Everything Ray’s saying is true, but that doesn’t mean he has to like being confronted with it. 

“You’re worried about Clay? Then act like it, instead of throwing tantrums better suited to my nine year old daughter. He needs you to be your best right now, not letting your anger control you. You think you can do that for him?” 

“Yeah…”

Sonny mumbles, feeling for all the world like a grade school kid getting told off for misbehavior. It’s not a pleasant feeling. Ray’s far too good at the whole disappointed parent lecture, he pities RJ and Jamaleeh. 

“Okay. Good. Now get your head out of your ass and apologize to Brock, and then go be there for your friend.” 

“Roger that, dad.” 

Sonny says, and Ray rolls his eyes but his lips quirk up a little. 

“Alright funny man, just get over there.” 


	5. Chapter Five

Jason is sitting by Brock saying something to him softly when Sonny walks over, but as soon as Sonny approaches he exchanges a look with the other man and quickly makes an exit. 

“Think you two have some stuff to talk about.”

He says, slapping Sonny a touch harder then necessary on the back as he walks away. Sonny watches him go, and tries to stifle the tiny part of him that wishes he would stay. Brock doesn’t say anything, just sits there petting the dog and eyeing Sonny cautiously. His bad ankle is laid out in front of him, propped up on his pack. It looks like Trent splinted it while Sonny was off sulking. Sonny sniffs a little awkwardly, kicking idly at a small pebble on the ground. He’s always been good at the getting angry part, not so good at the apologies that usually come after. 

“Mind if I sit?”

He asks, after the silence starts to get uncomfortable. Brock shrugs. 

“I don’t know, do _you_?

Sonny winces, but figures he probably deserved that one. Still, it’s not an outright no, so he settles down next to Brock in the spot Jason vacated. 

“I just wanted to say, uh, I’m sorry.” 

He ekes out, pointedly looking straight ahead. It’s not that he doesn’t mean it, it’s just embarrassing is all.

“Wow, really had to force that one out huh.”

Brock replies, voice dry enough to wither plants.

“Aw come on Brock I really-”

Sonny stops midsentence when he looks over and sees Brock laughing silently. He should’ve known, unlike some of the guys on their team Brock isn’t the type to hold grudges. 

“You got me goin’ there pretty good, you know that?”

He says, leaning over to press his shoulder against Brock’s, shoving him lightly. 

“You should’ve seen the look on your face.”

Brock gives him an impression, opening his eyes wide and letting his mouth hang open. Sonny rolls his eyes, but can’t help but smile. After a second though the smile drops.

“I really mean it though, man. I-I shouldn’t have said that shit.”

Brock nods, looks down and picks at something on the leg of his pants. 

“I know.” He says quietly, sighs. When he continues his voice is bitter. “You weren’t totally off though. I should have been watching where I was going. It was a stupid move and now…”

He trails off, eyes flicking over to where Trent’s kneeling by Clay. Sonny fills in the blanks. And now Clay might lose his ability to operate, or worse. Sonny’s stomach clenches and he suddenly feels even crappier about himself before. He thinks back to Ray’s words a few minutes earlier _you don’t have a monopoly on caring about Clay_. Brock and Clay are close, the two youngest on the team, which the rest of the guys never let them forget. Brock is one of the few Bravo members who will sit and listen to Clay talk about literature or beetles or whatever the hells got him excited, and Clay’s never seem to mind that Brock’s a man of very few words. Plus, Brock likes anyone who Cerb likes and Cerb took to Clay like a duck to water as soon as he joined Bravo. It must suck to watch Clay get worse and know that you might be the reason he’s not getting help sooner rather then later.

“Hey, I reckon if I ain’t allowed to blame you then you ain’t allowed to blame yourself either.”

Cerberus gives a short little yip at Sonny’s words, putting his head on Brock’s thigh and nosing at his finger. 

“Look, I think the hair missile agrees.”

Brock gives a faint laugh, giving in and scratching Cerb behind the ears. 

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” He lets out a long breath, letting his head drop back against the trunk of the tree. “Shit. I just really hope he’s going to be okay.” 

It’s more emphatic then you normally get from Brock, and Sonny whole-heartedly agrees. 

“You and me both brother.”

They sit in companionable silence for a few more seconds, watching the shadows lengthen and their little campsite descend into darkness. Sonny gaze keeps being drawn towards where Clay is though, and eventually he turns to Brock, 

“So, we good?”

He asks, offering Brock a fist. Brock bumps it, nodding. 

“Yeah. We’re good.” 

Feeling a little better then before Sonny clambers to his feet and heads over to Clay. Trent’s just finishing up an IV when Sonny approaches, fingers unusually gentle as he removes the needle and presses a cotton pad to the drop of blood that beads in it’s place. By the time this whole ordeal is over Clay’s going to look like a damn junky. 

“Hey.” 

Trent greets him, sounding tired. Sonny nods, sinking down beside him and giving Clay a once over. He’s asleep, but Sonny can see his eyes twitching underneath his lids, see the lines of pain etched into his face. 

“This thing is really kicking his ass, huh.”

He says, in lieu of a greeting. Trent sighs, and doesn’t disagree. 

“He never does things by half.” 

Sonny shakes his head. 

“No he does not. Just has to prove that he’s better then the rest of us, huh sunshine?”

He raises his voice a little for the last half of the sentence, leaning forward to give Clay’s arm a shake, but Clay doesn’t respond. Beside him Trent tries to hide a yawn, only half-succeeding, and Sonny thinks about how he stayed up with Clay most of last night. 

“Listen, you go rack out, I can sit with him.” 

He offers. Trent looks like he’s going to turn it down for a second, but then he yawns again and seems to recognize the wisdom in it. 

“Alright, but wake me up if something changes.”

“You got it. I’ll give ya a shout second he tries to pull anythin'.” 

Trent gives him last tired smile, and a thankful pat on the back before he’s moving away to curl up against a tree a few meters away. He looks like he’s out before his head is even flat on the ground. Sonny tries to get comfortable himself, resigning himself to a night of watching over a knocked out Clay. He wriggles for a moment, shifting as he feels a sharp rock dig into his ass. When he looks back Clay’s bright blue eyes are open and watching him. He freezes, taken aback. 

“Hey there, buddy. Decided to join the land of the livin’?”

Clay’s eyelids flutter, and for a second Sonny thinks he’s going to go right back to sleep, but he defies expectations and stays awake, clinging to consciousness doggedly. Figures, the kids always been too stubborn for his own good. Spenser looks around their campsite, taking in the fact that it’s dark, the change in location. It must be disorienting as hell to close his eyes one place and wake up another. 

“Where are we?”

Clay asks, voice scratchy and dry. Sonny winces at the sound but Trent had been clear that Clay wasn’t supposed to have any water, chances are he’d just throw it right back up. 

“Found a place to hunker down for the night, gettin’ real close to the end here okay? Just gotta hang on a little longer.”

Clay frowns, like he’s searching for something.

“Mexico?” 

He asks more then says, sounding painfully unsure. It’s not unsurprising, Trent had warned them all that Clay would be confused, that it was just the fever messing with his memory. Doesn’t mean it’s not scary to watch Clay struggle with the simplest pieces of recall.

“Yeah. Yeah. Mexico. Don’t think about it too hard, or you’ll hurt your head huh?”

Clay looks around again, eyes landing on the dark mounds of each of their teammates and then flitting to the next. He looks back to Sonny. 

“Where’s Adam?”

Sonny’s chest tightens, and for a second it’s like he can’t breath. He doesn’t know how to say the words, hurts even to think them

“Clay,” He says, as gently as he is capable of, “Adam’s… uh, Adam died. Asshole in an s-vest took him out a coupla months ago.”

Clay looks up at him, gaze uncomprehending. 

“Adam’s…dead.” 

He whispers, like he doesn’t understand the words. Sonny takes a deep breath, and wishes he were anywhere but here, in this forest, with his best friend, reminding him that the man who trained him got torn to pieces in an explosion. 

“Yeah, kid. He’s dead.” 

“Oh.” 

Clay says, voice small. He sounds like someone just told him his dog got hit by a car, sounds like a child. He tilts his head away, and Sonny catches a silvery flash running down his cheek in the pale moonlight that filters through the canopy. He looks away for a second, trying to give him some privacy. When he looks back, Clay’s out. 

A little while later Clay wakes up again, and they go through the same routine. He asks where they are, can’t remember the country. Asks for Adam again. This time Sonny doesn’t have the heart to put him through it a second time and just wipes a hand over his eyes, clears his throat, and lies through his teeth. 

“He’s, uh, he’s back at TOC, Spense, had to sit this one out.”

Clay looks a little confused, but seems to accept the answer. Sonny changes the subject, talking about Cerb nearly catching a snake earlier, how much Trent is bitching about MRE’s, anything to get his mind off of things. After a little while though Clay cuts him off. 

“Adam’s dead, isn’t he.” 

Sonny pauses, voice dying abruptly in his throat. 

“Brian’s dead too.”

Clay continues, voice rising in pitch. He’s getting agitated, shifting restlessly in the stretcher and Sonny glances towards Trent, unsure whether to wake him up or not. 

“I know that. Why couldn’t I remember that?” 

“Cause you’re sick right now, Clay, that’s all. It’s just-it’s just the fever, it’s getting’ you all confused.”   
  
Sonny says, trying for soothing and landing a little closer too panicked. He wishes Ray were up, or Jason. They’d know what to say. Clay stops moving then, and looks up at Sonny with frighteningly clear eyes. 

“Sonny, am I gonna die too?”

The question hits him like a punch to the gut and for a second he’s speechless. When he finds his voice he scrambles to reassure Clay. 

“No, no, you’re not gonna die okay? What the hell are you talkin’ about, am I gonna die. Trent’s takin’ real good care of you, and we’re almost out of this damn jungle. You’re gonna be just fine, no way a lil’ bug bites gonna be the end of Clay Spenser, huh?” 

But Clay’s already gone, sunk beneath the surface of the fever again. Sonny sits back, taking a shaky breath. He doesn’t know why this is getting too him so much. It’s like Trent said, Clay’s got plenty of time before this thing even gets to fatal stages, and they’re only half a day from the LZ. Even if things were worse, it’s not like he’s never lost friends before, never lost brothers. Maybe it’s because this feels different. Feels so pointless. Clay isn’t going down in a blaze of glory, isn’t dying for his country or his teammates or his principles. If he dies it’s because he had the bad luck to get bit by a fucking insect. It just doesn’t seem right. He shakes his head, trying to clear the morbid thoughts away. Clay isn’t going to die. There’s no use in walking down that garden path before he needs to. 

The rest of the night passes painfully slowly. Sometimes Clay will come to for a little bit, but he mostly mumbles things that don’t make much sense. Every now and then he’ll cry out a name in his sleep, Brian or Adam or Stella’s, sometimes even calling out for someone from the team. Each time Sonny’s gut clenches with helplessness. He tries to reassure him, tell him that everyone’s right there, that he’s there, but he’s not sure how much really gets through to him. And if every now and then he reaches out, runs a hand across Clay’s forehead to brush aside sweaty bangs, well then no one’s awake to mention it.

When the sun finally starts to rise Sonny’s exhausted, worn out from lack of sleep and emotionally drained. He’s just trying to rub away the gritty feeling in his eyes when Clay starts to stir. He drops his arms, preparing for another rambling incoherent discussion, but then Clay says his name, sounding more like Clay then he has all night. 

“Sonny.”

Sonny looks over and when his eyes meet Clay’s he actually sees the cocky mouthy rookie they started out this mission with in them. 

“Hey, hey there buddy. How you feelin’?”

He asks, leaning closer, feeling a seed of hope start to form. Trent’s right, Clay’s a fighter, who’s to say he couldn’t fight this? Maybe he’s getting better all on his own. 

“Sonny, my head hurts.” 

Clay says, voice laced with pain. Then his eyes roll back in his head and he starts to convulse. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's commented so far! I really love reading them and they always make me smile. I've got one more chapter and then the epilogue so thanks for sticking with it!

“Trent, I think he’s havin’ another seizure!”

Sonny calls, panic lacing his tone. Trent’s awake in a second, on his feet and running over to Sonny almost before his eyes are open all the way. 

“Get him on his side,”

He instructs tersely as he starts to time the fit, and Sonny scrambles to obey. Reaching down to grab Clay’s collar he heaves him onto his side, carefully avoiding wildly shaking limbs. A pit forms in Sonny’s stomach, gaping and dark, because he was better, he had looked at Sonny, had remembered his name. He was better. And now he’s seizing underneath Sonny’s hands. 

“Isn’t there anythin’ you can do?” 

He asks Trent, aware that he sounds scared, not able to stop it. Trent shakes his head, keeping his eyes locked on his watch. 

“Just have to wait it out.” 

His voice is stiff and frustrated; like he’s mad he’s not able to do more. At the world or at himself Sonny’s not sure. It’s hard to watch Clay like this-so vulnerable and exposed in a way that Sonny knows he’d hate people seeing-so he looks away, tells himself he’s not being a coward. Only half succeeds in convincing himself it’s true. 

By now the activity has woken the rest of the team up from their spots around the campsite. Jason and Ray are standing now, faces drawn, as they watch the scene unfold on the ground. Jason looks pissed off, and Ray looks concerned, gaze floating between Clay and Jason like he’s not sure which he should be more worried about. Brock just looks gutted, eyes wide and arms pressed against the ground like he wants to get up, Cerb nosing anxiously at his side like he can sense his handler’s upset. Probably can, dogs are supposed to be good at that sort of shit. The muscles in Sonny’s arms start to ache as he tries to keep a hundred and eighty pounds of thrashing Clay on his side, but he just grits his teeth and bears it. 

“How long’s it been?”

Jason asks after what feels like a long while, his voice gruff with worry. Trent glances briefly at him.

“Three minutes twenty seconds.” 

Is his brusque reply, and Sonny’s stomach flips. 

“Didn’t you say-you said over three minutes when we gotta worry?”

Trent doesn’t get a chance to answer because as abruptly as the seizure started it ends. Clay sinking, boneless, onto the ground. The sudden weight catches Sonny by surprise, and Trent reaches out to grab Clay’s shoulders. Together gently lower him onto his back again, Trent adjusting his head so that his neck isn’t twisted awkwardly in a gesture that might almost be tender if Sonny didn’t know better. Clay’s eyes are closed now, and there’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek from where he rubbed his face against the ground while he thrashed. Sonny resists the urge to reach down and wipe it off.

As Trent starts to check Clay over Sonny pushes himself to his feet, rubbing his hand unconsciously on the leg of his pants. He feels something building again, a pressure in his chest, like he’s got to move, got to run. He takes a deep breath, swallows, trying to get himself under control. He won’t do Clay any good if he loses it now. Jason whistles sharply, gesturing him over. 

“Come on, huddle up.”

As Sonny goes to join Jason and Ray he passes by where Brock’s still sitting propped against a tree. He looks up at him, green eyes wide and tense. 

“Help me up.” 

There’s a hint of something that might be frustration in his voice, unusual from the normally easygoing man. Sonny gets it. Silently he nods, reaching down to take Brock’s hand and pulling him to his feet, letting him use his shoulder as a prop as they move over to the others. Jason’s got one arm crossed over his chest, other hand rubbing at his chin and Ray’s saying something to him quietly as they approach, but he cuts off when he sees them. Probably giving him some variation of the talk he gave Sonny last night by the looks of it. Jason glances up, 

“As soon as Trent gives us the all clear we’re on the move, yeah?”

He says. Sonny nods emphatically. At his side he feels Brock shift nervously. When Sonny glances at him out of the corner of his eye there’s a squirrely, guilty look on his face. 

“Course boss.”

Sonny says slowly, still eyeing Brock. Jason’s gaze shifts to the other man, obviously picking up on the fact that something’s bothering the guy. 

“Got something on your mind? Now’s the time to spit it out.” 

Brock grimaces, bites at his lip. He takes a breath, like he’s steeling himself for what he’s about to say, and starts in.

“This is my fault-”

Before he can even finish his sentence Jason cuts him off. 

“Hey, hey, look at me Brock. Look at me.” 

Brock reluctantly obeys, drawing his eyes up to meet Jason’s. 

“Now’s not the time for finger pointing, got it? Clay needs all our heads in the game, so unless it’s gotta do with getting him out of here I don’t want to hear it. We clear?” Brock hesitates, then nods. Jason reaches out, pats him on the back of the head. “Good. That’s good.”

Just then there’s a crunch of a twig behind them and Sonny turns to see Trent approaching, pulling off a pair of rubber gloves and wiping at his forehead.

“Trent, what you got?”

Jason asks, moving his weight from one foot to the other anxiously. Trent sighs. 

“I’m thinking its encephalitis. Temp’s still holding at 105, which is good, but means it’s probably not just febrile seizures.” 

“Alright. Okay. So what does that mean for Clay’s condition.”

Trent looks grim, and there are fine lines of stress around his mouth and eyes. 

“It means we gotta get him to secondary care ASAP. His fever stays high like this too long, inflammations only gonna get worse. We could be looking at permanent brain damage, coma.” 

Jason closes his eyes for a second, jaw clenching. Takes a sharp breath. When he opens them again he looks determined.

“He good to go?”

Trent nods. 

“A-firm, he’s all set.”

“Okay. We’re moving out now, we’re not stopping till we get to the LZ. Brock, you gonna be able to keep pace?”

Jason asks, appraisingly. Brock nods immediately, face set and gaze locked on Clay with a sort of single-minded obstinance. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about me.”

“Okay good, let’s get to it. You got two mikes to to pick up your shit.” 

Sonny barely listens to him though, packs up his gear on auto-pilot. All he can hear ringing in his ears is Trent’s voice, _we could be looking at permanent brain damage, coma_. This mission was easy, it was simple. A stupid recon and surveillance gig. They made it through fine. Clay was fine. And now he might go into coma. From a goddamn bug bite. Clay’s survived a helicopter crash, a 7.62 round to the chest, and a childhood with Ash Spenser as a father and in the end it’s a tick that might be the thing to bring him down. Sonny realizes the anger he felt last night, it never really went away, and it flares bright and sharp and furious in his chest. Suddenly he can’t breath with the intensity of it. 

“Hey! Sonny!”

Jason calls, breaking Sonny out of his trance. He realizes that Jason’s only standing about a foot away, close enough to touch, and he hadn’t even noticed him coming. 

“Hey,” He says again, quieter this time. “Where’s your head, huh, you need me to give you the same speech I gave Brock?”

Sonny swallows hard, and tamps down on the fury. 

“No sir.” 

He grinds out, meeting Jason’s gaze head on. Jason’s eyes linger, but he seems satisfied with whatever he finds because he nods shortly, slapping Sonny on the shoulder. 

“Alright, let’s move out. Get Spenser to a nice comfy hospital bed.” 

Sonny nods. They get moving. The blister on Sonny’s finger is bigger now, filled with murky blood and pus, but he pulls his glove on over it and picks up Clay’s stretcher without a word. 

As they haul ass through the jungle, no one says a word. Brock’s face is tight with pain as he hobbles alongside Trent, but he doesn’t ask for them to slow down or pause once. The whole hike out, Sonny keeps waiting for something terrible to happen. The sky to fall on their heads, a mudslide to sweep them away, maybe even a damn tiger to jump out of the trees at them, because that’s just how this op has gone. Somehow, though, they make it the last leg of their journey without incident. The sky stays where it is, and they don’t see any wildlife dangerous or otherwise. Clay doesn’t have another incident either, staying still and silent in his stretcher excepting the occasional incoherent mumble. Sonny never thought he’d say this but he almost misses the bitching. Still, no more seizures is a good thing in his book. Maybe things are actually looking up for them, whatever bizarre jungle god they pissed off is finally cutting them some slack. As they get closer to the LZ Jason gets on his comms, 

“HAVOC, this is Bravo one. We’re about 30 mikes out from the LZ.”

“Copy that Brave One, we read you Lima Charlie. Helo is holding in loiter pattern and we have a medical team waiting for you on the tarmac.” 

Blackburn responds. Sonny leans down a little, whispers to Clay. 

“Hear that buddy? Almost out of here, and then they’ll be more doctors then you can count just waitin’ to turn you into their personal pincushion. Just gotta hold on a little longer.” 

Clay doesn’t respond, but his eyes flicker under his eyelids like maybe he heard Sonny. 

As they load onto the waiting helo and lift off Sonny even lets himself relax, just a little bit. They’re gonna get Clay to a hospital and they’ll give him the medicine he needs and he’ll be fine. It’s all going to be a big fuss over nothing. So, he starts to unwind, let some of the tension out of his muscles, take a deep breath. Right up until Brock looks up, face white with panic, and says, 

“He won’t wake up.” 

Immediately Trent’s scrambling over Ray’s legs, getting to his knees at Clay’s side. Sonny watches, panic yawning in his chest, as the medic knuckles Clay’s sternum hard. Clay doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t even flinch. Sonny can’t even tell if his chest is moving from where he’s sitting. After a second Trent gives up on trying to get a reaction, and instead moves his finger to Clay’s neck, glancing down at the watch on his wrist as he takes his pulse. 

“Trent?”

Jason shouts over the whir of the rotors, and his voice sounds foreign to Sonny’s ears, like he’s speaking from very far away, or under water. 

“Okay, he’s breathing, pulse is slow.” 

Trent responds after a second. Sonny feels his own heart stutter in his chest, and realizes his grip is clamped white knuckled around the grip of his MP7. He takes a breath, makes an efforts to relax his fingers one by one. Trent stays next to Clay the rest of ride, and Clay doesn’t wake up, but he doesn’t get worse either. 

As soon as they hit the tarmac they’re moving again, easing Clay’s limp body out of the helo and onto the waiting stretcher. The medical team wheels him away and then, just like that, he’s gone. All of a sudden the anger in Sonny’s chest is gone too, leaving behind a heavy aching pit. Clay’s going to be fine, he tells himself as they get on the bus to head back to base, he’s going to be fine. It doesn’t sound convincing, even in his own head. 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! I already have the epilogue written, just need to edit it so hopefully that'll be up tomorrow or the day after. In the meantime, I have two other stories I've been working on (because apparently quarantine has made me a very productive writer) and thought I'd leave it up to you all to decide which you'd like to see next! I'll include the titles and some vague summaries at the bottom :)

When they get back to the Brazilian Navy base they’re being hosted in Blackburn’s waiting for them, face somber, Davis hovering behind him looking crushed. 

“I think the AAR can wait.” 

He says, almost gently. They don’t need to be told twice. 

They must be a sight, Sonny thinks vaguely as they settle into the waiting room of the bases clinic. They’d barely bothered to strip off their gear in their hurry to get over here, just five men in fatigues covered in mud, sweat, bug bites, and stinking to high hell. They look out of place in the sterile muted tones of the infirmary, like kids tracking muddy footprints into their grand-ninny’s pastel sitting room. Trent tries to get Brock to go have his ankle looked at, but Brock staunchly refuses to move until they get news on Clay.

“He would wait for me.”

Is all he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and Sonny’s reminded that Brock can give Clay a run for his money in the stubborn son of a bitch department when he wants to. It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for. After a few fruitless minutes of arguing Trent gives up, settling for forcing Brock to sit with his foot propped up in front of him on a chair. 

They wait. Five minutes pass, then ten, then twenty. After half an hour Sonny stands up and gives the leg of the chair beside him a hard kick. It clatters across the linoleum floor, skidding a few feet before coming to a halt, loud as a gunshot in the silence. Ray winces at the sound, but doesn’t say anything. Sonny’s toe aches dully in his boot where it collided with the leg of the chair, matches the dull throbbing ache in his chest. 

“What the hells takin’ ‘em so damn long? Don’t they just have to-have to give him doxy or whatever the antibiotic is? How long can that take?”

He bites out, crossing and uncrossing his arms angrily. Trent scrubs at his face, sitting up from where he’d been resting his arms on his knees. He looks exhausted. 

“They’re, uh, probably just running some tests.” 

He says, quietly. Running some tests to see how much of their brother they get back, is what he doesn’t say. If they get all of him or just pieces. 

Sonny feels sick with it, the waiting. It’s never been his strong suit, sitting around waiting to be spun up drives him crazy on the best of days but now that it’s a brother’s life they’re waiting on it’s a hundred times worse. It grates on his nerves in a way he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to no matter how many times it happens. You’d think you’d start to get numb to it eventually, Sonny’s been in enough hospital waiting rooms and funeral processions to last a lifetime and then some, but somehow every time still feels like the first time. Names flash through his head, Adam, Nate, men from his time before the teams, all blurring together into a brilliant kaleidoscope of loss. The thought of Clay’s name joining that list sits heavy like a rock in his stomach and he shies away from it like a skittish colt, refuses to even consider it. In the background he can hear the clock on the wall ticking away, the second hand somehow deafeningly loud in the still air of the waiting room. 

He’s about to do something stupid involving crappy waiting room chairs and property damage that’ll most likely get him into a while lot trouble when the doors at the end of the waiting room open and a woman in scrubs walks in. Immediately they’re crowding around her, Brock pulling himself up out of his chair and using Trent as a crutch to hobble over. She raises an eyebrow slightly but otherwise doesn’t react to having a team of very stressed tier one operators getting all sorts of up in her business. 

“How is he?”

Brock asks, beating Sonny to the punch. When the doctor replies her english is heavily accented, but clear. 

“Good. We started him on doxycycline and he’s responding well to the drug. His fever is down.”

“He was seizing,” Trent interjects, brow furrowed, “Do you know what was causing it? I thought it might have been encephalitis but it’s hard to tell in the field.”

The doctor gives him an appraising look, before nodding. 

“Your guess was correct, when he arrived he was presenting with a mild case of encephalitis. It was most likely what was causing the lack of consciousness and stimulus response. Symptoms should disappear entirely with treatment of the RMSF though.” 

“So he’s going to be okay? No brain damage or anythin’ like that?”

Sonny asks, finally daring to hope. Her gaze turns to him, and Sonny realizes for the first time that’s she’s beautiful. Any other day he would have been making some sort of inappropriate pass, but right now he barely notices. 

“Yes. He should be fine, the treatment was administered early enough to prevent any permanent effects. We’ll keep him overnight for observation but I feel comfortable discharging him tomorrow if his condition continues to improve, as long as he finishes his antibiotic regime over the next four days.” 

Sonny feels the collective sigh of relief that passes through the room like a tidal wave, and has to fight the sudden urge to sit down. Trent lets out a choked little laugh, running a hand through sweaty dirty hair. 

“Yeah, uh, I’ll make sure he sticks with it. Don’t worry about that.” 

“Can we see him?”

Jason asks, voice urgent, and the doctor nods. 

“Of course. He is still recovering so please, only one or two at a time, and not too many visitors. His room is down the hallway and to the left, 215.” 

He thanks her quickly, shaking her hand, before heading down the hall while the rest of them wait their turn. Sonny crosses his arms anxiously, resisting the urge to pace. Jason’s got the whole silent brooding thing down, that’s not Sonny’s style. Sonny’s all about direct action, about confronting his problems head on and preferably with a machine gun, and he knows the doc said he was alright but he doesn’t think he’ll really believe it till he sees Clay and knows that Clay sees him too. 

After about five minutes Jason comes back, and some of the lines of stress he’s carried, the weight that seemed to sit on his shoulders since Clay first went down nearly three days ago, are gone. Sonny takes it as a positive sign. It feels like something has broken in the room, the tension dispersing with the good news. 

“Alright, he’s pretty groggy, so lets keep it short.” Jason says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning heavily against the wall. “And yes I’m looking at you Sonny, don’t tire him out.” 

Sonny had been exhausted, but he feels a little delirious now, relief taking hold in the place of exhaustion and giving him a second wind. He gives Jason his best look of innocence, eyebrows climbing up his forehead in mock surprise. 

“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about Jase, I’ve been told I have a very calm and soothin’ presence.”

Jason snorts, 

“Yeah, calm and soothing my ass, you’re about as calm and soothing as pure Mexican cocaine.” 

Sonny grins, not even bothering to deny it, and everyone chuckles little. Everyone except for Brock. He’s sunk back down into a chair, a look of such utter relief on his face that it would probably make Sonny laugh under different circumstances. 

“Hey,” Sonny says, walking over to him. “Want to go in and see him next?”

Brock looks up, a little startled, a little hesitant. 

“You sure?” 

He asks, tentatively. Sonny shrugs, 

“Course, I’m sure. Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure. Come on, get in there. I bet poster boy could use some cheerin’ up.”

Brock glances over at Jason who nods, jerks his head in the direction of Clay’s room. Brock’s on his feet almost before Trent’s there to help him up, and the two of them disappear down the hallway together. Ray comes over to stand by Sonny, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Look at you, acting like a grown up.” 

Sonny huffs, reaching up to scratch at his beard. 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t make me regret it Perry…” 

He mumbles, feeling faintly embarrassed. Ray holds up his hands appeasingly,

“Never, brother. Just… that was a good thing you did there.”

And there’s a hint of pride in his voice. When Brock and Trent emerge from Clay’s room a few minutes later Brock looks notably cheerier, and when Trent herds him away to finally get his fractured ankle looked at he lets him. Ray nudges Sonny in the ribs. 

“Think you’re up.”

Sonny doesn’t need to asked again, he’s off down the hall so fast he thinks he might actually leave skid marks on the linoleum in his wake. He knows he’s showing his hand here, but can’t really bring himself to care. When he opens the door to Clay’s room he’s surprised by how much better Clay looks already. Somebody’s cleaned the dirt off his face, and he’s not pale as a ghost under his fever anymore. Doesn’t seem about a strong gust of wind away from collapsing in on himself. He glances over blearily when he hears the door close, and grins. 

“Sonny.”

He says, confidently, and his eyes are clear and lucid. Sonny swipes at his face with his sleeve, smiles back.

“Yeah, just me, don’t look so excited.” Sonny complains as he sits down in the chair beside Clay’s bed, carefully avoiding the IV line that snakes down to his arm.   
“You really put us through the wringer you know that?” 

“Sorry.”

Clay says, and sounds like he might actually mean it. Sonny sniffs, reaching up and running a hand through his hair, searches for something to say. It’s funny, he’d a whole good rant building about bug bites and slippery hills and having to carry your friends through jungles, but now that he’s face to face with Clay his mind is blank. 

“Doc said the enceph- encephawhatever is goin’ down.”

He mutters eventually. Clay smiles faintly. 

“Encephalitis. It’s okay Sonny, that’s a big word for you.”  
  
Sonny lets out a choked laugh, trying to hide the grin that threatens to take over his face at Clay’s insult. 

“Alright smartass, watch yourself. We still got that raincheck from earlier, when you’re back on your feet I am kickin’ your ass, and that’s a promise.” 

Clay shakes his head a little, not even bothering to hide his laughter. 

“Yeah right man. Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night.” 

Eventually the laughter subsides, and Sonny notices Clay’s eyes fluttering like he’s trying to stay awake. 

“Look, the doc said we shouldn’t tire you out too much, and I don’t want Jase on my case about bein’ a bad influence. I should head out, let you get some rest.”

Clay nods, yawning, and Sonny takes that as his cue. Pushing himself up he heads for the door. Before he reaches it though he stops, turning back and rubbing a little self-consciously at the back of his head. 

“Look, I’m just, uh. I’m just glad you’re okay, Clay. We all are.” 

Clay smiles back at him, already half way to a sleep that looks more peaceful then he’s gotten in days. 

“Yeah. I know.” 

And then he’s out like a light. Sonny snorts, shaking his head affectionately. Looks like Clay’s jungle adventure hadn’t made him any less of a little shit. Letting himself out of the room carefully, so the door doesn’t click, he heads back to the waiting room. Trent and Brock aren’t back yet, and Jason’s disappeared off somewhere, but Ray’s still waiting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. He looks up when Sonny enters. 

“Jase’s trying to hunt down some coffee.” He says by way of explanation, and then, “He up for another visitor?” 

Sonny shakes his head, drops into a seat beside him. 

“Sorry, I reckon I tired him out a bit. He’s sleepin’ like a lil baby.”

Ray waves him off, dipping his chin.

“Don’t worry about it, there’ll be time to check in on him later.” 

And Sonny feels something warm settle in him at that, because Clay _has_ time. Has a later. There’d been a terrifyingly long while when Sonny hadn’t been sure of that. Ray continues on, rubbing at his eyes and sitting up a little. 

“How does…how’s he seem?”

He asks, a little hesitantly. Sonny thinks about it for a long moment, then grins, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. In the distance he can hear the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, Jason bitching loudly to himself about crappy hospital coffee. 

“You know what Ray, I think he’s goin’ to be just fine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story choices!
> 
> Option #1:  
> Oh Lazurus, how did your debts get paid - post season two, Clay's not doing as well as everyone seems to think he is and Brock notices. 
> 
> Option #2 :  
> and may I not prove unworthy - basically ever since Clay jumped on that grenade during training in season one I've wanted to do something with it...


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the end! I know I said this before but thank you to everyone for the comments, they genuinely make me smile and make it easier to get through this difficult time! I had a great time writing my first story for this show, and hope everyone had a good time reading. Stay safe and well!

Four long days later of Spenser being generally antsy and obnoxious and Trent being irritated, Clay is finally cleared to fly. Sonny actually thinks Trent might be happier to get out of Brazil then Sonny is. As it turns out wrangling a recovering Clay is a pain in the ass and he thinks Trent might have a few new grey hairs from trying to make sure he actually stays in bed and takes his antibiotics. 

Still, they make it through with all their pieces intact, and board the C-17 for the flight home. As soon as they hit cruising altitude Jason breaks out the beer cooler, everyone gathering around. 

“Next time we’re spun up for an op in a jungle,” Sonny says as Jason passes him a beer. “I’m callin’ out on personal grounds.”

Ray laughs, cracking his own bottle open. 

“Oh really? And what might those personal grounds be, Sonny.”

Sonny takes a long sip, savoring the taste of cheap American beer, still cool and frosty from the Coleman. 

“That I fuckin’ _hate_ jungles.” 

“Hey,” 

Clay says from where he’s set up in the corner. He’s been sulking a little, he’s not allowed to have alcohol since he’s still on heavy-duty antibiotics and he’s pissed off about it. 

“You’re not the guy who just spent two days tripping balls on a 105 degree fever in one.” 

Sonny nods, conceding. 

“True, but I was the one who carried your heavy ass through it. Ever thought about losing a few pounds?” 

“Woah woah woah, don’t go trying to take all the credit for that man, last I checked we all participated in carrying Spenser’s heavy ass through that jungle. And weren’t you the one bitching about the blister you got from it?”

Trent says cutting in with a grin. 

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try walking out of there on a busted ankle.”

Brock adds, a touch snarkily for Sonny’s taste. Sonny sure likes him better when he’s not talking, he’s starting to feel a little unfairly ganged up on here. He holds up his hands, trying to rein the situation back under control. 

“Boys, boys, let’s not bicker.” Sonny says, “All I’m hearing is that Bravo, as a team, should from here on out recuse ourselves from ever running another op in jungle territory.” 

Jason snorts,

“Yeah, good luck explaining that one to the brass.” He says, taking a long pull from his beer before continuing. “Sorry, sir, we can’t go kill the bad guys hiding in the forest, last time Sonny got a blister.” 

Everyone laughs raucously, Trent reaching over to shove Sonny’s shoulder. Sonny let’s them laugh, shaking his head while he waits for them to finish.

“Alright, alright, keep laughing you chuckleheads. Wait till your blister gets infected like Trent here told me about and they have to cut your hand off, see how funny it is then.” 

He gripes, but there’s anger in it. Everyone settles down a little after that, breaking off into groups to chat or in Brock’s case finding a corner to curl up with Cerb in. Sonny wanders over to where Clay’s still sitting and sinks down next to him, taking a sip of his beer. He’s still looking a little shaky, a little shadowed under the eyes, but other then that there’s no sign of the ordeal he just went through. Still, Sonny’s been getting the sense he’s down, and about more then just the fact that he can’t drink. 

“So, how you feelin’ GQ, back to fightin’ form?”

Sonny asks casually. Clay just shrugs, looking down at his hands. 

“You know, I’m fine. Finished up my antibiotics and everything.”

Sonny nods, takes another sip of beer and stares at the wall opposite him carefully. 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t askin’ about your antibiotics regime so much.”

Clay lets out a disbelieving laugh, glancing over at him. 

“Hold on, let me get this straight. _Sonny Quinn_ wants to talk about feelings?”

“Hey, look, we don’t got to make it weird or nothin’ like that.”

Sonny says defensively, shrugging a little uncomfortably, not really sure why he asked in the first place just that he felt that he should. Clay gives him a look, grinning a little. 

“Oh we don’t have to make it weird? Were you reading Cosmo again or something while I was out? I’m fine, Sonny, you don’t need to check up on me.”

“Alright alright, I know when I’m not wanted. Feel free to continue to mope around all on your lonesome.”

Sonny says, grabbing onto the webbing above him to pull himself up. He’s only halfway out of his seat though when Clay stops him. His voice is hesitant, so quiet it’s nearly lost under the loud thrum of the C-17’s engine. 

“Listen, I just wanted to say, uh, I… I heard you. Back in the jungle. I was pretty out of it, but I heard you talking, that last night.”

Sonny pauses, slowly starts to sit back down. Clay’s looking at his hands, picking at something on one of his palms. Sonny doesn’t say anything, just waits. Clay sits back, wiping a hand across his mouth.

“I just…it helped. To have something to hold onto, y’know, to pull me through.” 

Sonny nods slowly. 

“Yeah, I know the feelin’. You scared me pretty bad, the way you were goin’ on. Couldn’t even remember what country we were in half the time. It sucked, seein’ you like that.” 

Sonny says, softly, and it feels like an admission of something. Feels like he’s baring a part of himself he usually keeps hidden. Clay huffs out a laugh. 

“Yeah, well, it sucked pretty bad on the other side of it too.” He pauses then, like he’s searching for the words. “Mostly though… it made me realize I’m lucky to have you guys. I know I was kinda of a dick when I first made Bravo, but I was used to running on my own. Watching my own back. You guys… you really showed me what it means to be part of a team.” 

“Aw shucks goldilocks, you’re gonna make me blush.”

Sonny says lightly, taking a pull from his beer to cover up his smile. Clay rolls his eyes. 

“Thought you said we weren’t going to make it weird.” He pauses again, and this time it feels heavier. “I know you didn’t know him very well, but I-I think Brian would’ve liked you.” 

Sonny takes a moment to reply, a little surprised, a little honored. It feels like, maybe, Clay’s admitting something too.

“Yeah. You know what, I think I probably woulda liked him too.”

Sonny says, and finds he really means it. Clay smiles then, one of his real smiles. The ones you don’t get very often. That ache of affection rises in Sonny’s chest again like the tide, and this time he doesn’t try to press it down. Accepts that there are some things that are inevitable, like the changing of the seasons. The moment is broken before thing’s can get too mushy when Jason interrupts, calling over to them.

“Yo, gonna play a couple of hands. Want in?”

“Yeah, I’m in, as long as Brock quits cheating man.”

Clay calls back. Brock just yawns a little sleepily and smiles innocently in their direction, shrugging. Clay rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath. 

“You know he scalps us every time, I don’t know why we keep falling for it…”

“Them there are the words of a poor loser, young jedi. To win you must learn to outsmart the master at his own game.”

Sonny admonishes, clapping Clay on the back as they get up. 

“Alright, alright. Enough with the damn star wars metaphors Sonny, I get it.”

He replies, ducking petulantly away from Sonny’s hand as Sonny smirks. On their way over Clay leans down surreptitiously, tries to snag a beer out of the cooler. 

“Hey, what’d I tell you Spenser, no booze.”

Trent calls from the table, almost without looking up, and Clay swears before dropping the can back in with a thunk. 

“That guy is freakish,” he grumbles quietly as he follows Sonny, “I swear to god he’s got a sixth sense or something.” 

“Heard that,” Trent says, as he deals the cards out. “And I don’t have a sixth sense you’re just not as sneaky as you think you are.” 

“I’m going to take great joy in proving you wrong about that,”

Clay says with a grin as he drops down onto a seat across from Trent, scooping up his hand and fanning out the cards. 

“Clay you know I’m your friend and I’m here to support you, but that ain’t gonna happen. It’s impossible to get the jump on Trent. Believe me we’ve all tried.” 

Sonny says, shaking his head and grabbing a crate next to Ray. Clay raises an eyebrow, looking around the table. 

“I think Sonny might be going soft on us guys, he just used the f word and he wanted to talk about our feelings.” 

Everyone laughs, Brock reaching over to jab at Sonny in the ribs. He slaps at his hands lightly, pointing at Clay. 

“I ain’t going soft, and we may be friends but next time you need someone to pull your ass out of a jungle, it ain’t gonna be me, for real this time.” 

Clay nods, schooling his face into an appropriately solemn expression. 

“Duly noted, buddy.” 

But even as Sonny picks up his hand he knows that’s bullshit, knows everyone at the table knows it too. He hates jungles, but he loves his brothers more. Reaching out he kicks Clay’s leg under the table, not hard enough to hurt, and grins. 

“Aw, just shut up and play sunshine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was close, but it looks like option #1 emerged as the winner! Don't worry to everyone who voted for #2, it'll be coming as well ;)


End file.
